The lonely street of
Smith Road, Maine was silent. The gloomy street barely shone any
light. Yes, the populated neighborhood had plenty lamps, but all of
them had burnt out. All but one. It shined like a lonely ghost that
never leaves. Never burns out. Never stops haunting the road.

“Mama,” one boy
with brown hair and brown eyes wearing a bright blue shirt said out
of the blue, “can I go see the lady under the street light?”

“Who? What lady?
Tell me who.” The mother, who looked like him in every way,
demanded.

“That lady,” the
child said pointing to the empty street.

The mother, thinking
he had an imaginary friend responded, “Sure, why not.” The boy
jumped with glee as the mother patted him on the back. The boy ran
outside to the lamp.

The mother watched
nervously as the small boy was talking to someone. He responded like
a lady was actually there! There wasn’t. There couldn’t be. But
he talked, waited, smiled, laughed...and held his hand in the air as
if someone held his tiny hand. If that’s how people act with
imaginary friends, then he must actually think someone is there and
talking to him.

Then it all happened
too fast! The small child started crying as deep cuts dragged through
his skin. Blood started dripping down his arm, creating a puddle
below him. Then he fell down, crying with his arm still up. The
mother ran out as fast as she could stand it. The boy screamed as he
got dragged into the woods. The mother quickly turned to the same
entrance of matted down grass and blood that covered the dirt. Being
the fastest runner in her old high school was helping. She found a
field as she came closer and in the center was...she started crying
as she walked to her son. He lay there limp, obviously dead. The
mother dropped to her knees and cried until she couldn’t cry any
more. She walked home but as soon as she walked out of the woods, she
saw a massive rock bang into her forehead. A jogger found her on the
sidewalk the next day. Dead.